


Rancor

by CreepyGhostQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Rancor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyGhostQueen/pseuds/CreepyGhostQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has always been living in the shadow of his older brother. Once high school starts it only gets worse and Sherlock becomes hostile towards Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

"Sherlock, I took the liberty of assigning you extra work, it's in your folder. I remember Mycroft loved extra work."

Mycroft this, and Mycroft that! Stressful anger clouded my brain. High school had been nothing but meaningless comparisons to my brother whom I was far from similar with. Eight years he'd been out of those classes, away from those teachers, yet they all seemed to recall his every action. They assumed I was like him, an overdramatic know-it-all. His stupid deductions were still the talk of the school, how he could tell nearly anything with one glance. Bullocks if you ask me, made up, lucky guesses, and nothing more. 

Question after meaningless question popped off the paper and taunted me. Math, science, literacy they all plagued the room. It became virtually unbearable to stand as the questions blended into each other. By the time it got on the subject of astronomy I could no longer take it. 

How did Mycroft possibly do all this work? How did he any work? He had ADHD, he shouldn't have been focused on anything, let alone this focused on education. Pills, the tiny blue and white capsules he would take daily. It could be possible that they were still around, seeing how he seemed to outgrow his symptoms shortly into adulthood. 

I pushed my papers and books off to the side and stood up from the chair. My neck ached from being awkwardly positioned. Slowly I rotated my head up, left, down, right, and back again. Without attracting attention to myself I attempted to sneak out of my room and into Mycroft's now abandoned room. 

"Finish your homework Sherlock?" My mothers voice cheerfully rang from the kitchen. 

"Just about." I mumbled. "Need a book from Mykes room."

"It's getting late make sure to get sleep." 

"I will." I stared at the golden doorknob, it had been over a year since this door was opened, three years since Mycroft moved out. It twisted with ease however and revealed his clean study of a room. If mother thought I was simply looking for a book then I didn't have long. The door remained open just a crack and I scanned the room. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk, shelved and unorganized piles of book, and lastly his table, lined gracefully with bottle after bottle of prescription pills. 

Obviously my brother was far more crazy than I had imagined, having pills for anxiety, insomnia, depression, ADHD, and numerous other bottles not as specifically labeled. I quickly grabbed the bottle labeled Ritalin and a random book of the shelf. Chances were mum would be outside the room waiting to spark up a meaningless conversation, if I was quick I could make it into my room without being noticed. Slowly I crept back out and maneuvered my way past the vacuum and other various obstacles that I hadn't noticed previously. 

Sure enough mum was there waiting for me to emerge, I shoved the pills into the nook of my arm and smiled at her. "What book did you choose?" She asked with a faint smile. 

I shot a quick glance down to the cover and read upside down "Have His Carcase."

"Mykes favorite." She smiled. "Myke used to read that one all the time, I remember-"

"Mum I have work to do." I slipped past her and into the safety of my own room. Even here I could not escape the constant reminders of my accomplished brother. The book was useless, I had read it before but I was never one for mystery novels. It bounced off my bed before landing on the floor face down. 

Prying the top off the the bright orange bottle was quite a difficult task for me. Push and twist, it shouldn't be that hard, but my hands shook like a madman's. As I worked at it I read the bottle 'Mycroft C. Holmes 50mg. Take one capsule a day by mouth'. If one a day made Mycroft the genius he was then if I took five now I should be able to get past these stupid assignments in no time. The top cracked off at last spilling the pastel medication on my desk. 

They flew into my mouth as candy as I popped them slowly one by one, losing count after four. The Ritalin worked, my brain became wired and focused on my work but only for a short time, it wasn't long before I became drowsy. My bed seemed so far away that my only option was to slither off the my chair and curl onto the floor. Sprawled out on my back I watched my ceiling. Never in my life had I found the plastered white bumps to be as interesting as I did in this moment. 

My eyes blended the bumps into beautiful pictures. The pictures danced across my ceiling and seemed to be making their way toward me. I forced myself up and they suddenly disintegrated into the air. With no sense of time or being I walked as well as I could out of my room into the bathroom across. My clothes came off with little struggle, but stepping into the elevated shower was a challenge. 

Hot, steaming water pulsated against my back. I took in a breath of the fog like atmosphere I had turned the bathroom into. It seemed to lock into my lungs and not release. My breathing became shallow but not too faint. Without much thought I finished my shower, letting myself believe it was the steam causing my chest pain and not the drugs. 

Stepping out my heart raced at an alarming rate. Everything I did seemed to require a great strength. Forgetting my clothes I wrapped myself in the pale purple towel and made my way back to my bed. Even sitting seemed to effect my chest, no matter what I did I could find no comfort. I became increasingly afraid of my heart exploding. I had to loose blood. 

Without thinking I grabbed a scissors from my desk and stabbed myself on the lower arm. I saw the blood and the open gash, but I felt nothing but a slight tingling sensation. Seeing how pain couldn't effect me at the moment I continued to slice my body, releasing the excess blood that was being pumped through my veins. Piercing my chest I let out a definite scream. Knowing it would be heard I covered my still damp and bloody body with a thin black sheet and flicked off my light. 

"You alright?" My dad tapped his knuckles against the door. 

"Yeah" I shouted back at him. "Just a night terror." My breathing decreased greatly with each word. 

"Need me to come in?"

"No, I'm fine." By now I was panting, loud enough that he could surely hear. 

"No more murder books for you boy." He chuckled a bit and I listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. 

I pressed my hand against my sliced open chest, the blood was flowing at an alarming rate. This would need stitches, but I couldn't bring myself to tell anybody. They wouldn't understand, simply shout and worry. Mycroft wouldn't've told anybody, he would fix it on his own. I let myself bleed out as I closed my eyes, tears collecting within them. 

Despite my scare I continued to take the Ritalin pills, for both the focus and the small high it provided. Cutting myself was becoming a slight tradition as well, preventing the sudden heart attacks that seemed to follow the calming high. I became in over my head after only a short time, I would take them before school, going to class clearly fogged. 

Rumors spread like wild fire. "Did you hear about the Holmes boy?" "Smoke it up Shezza" "Pussy, money, drugs!" "Sherlock is a druggie" "I hear he steals pills from the nurses office." 

I sat alone behind the school, a cigarette in my mouth but not lit. The lighter remained in my other hand, opened to a flame and dancing gracefully in the wind. As I bent my head down, about to inhale and start the fire, a flock of students made their way around the corner. "Shit" I mumbled under my breath, lighting the cigarette despite them. 

"You that Holmes kid?" The leader spoke with a heavy American accent. 

"Not shit." I gave a grimaced smile. 

"You look like one of them fucked up kids from them primetime movies." He laughed a little, his fat freckled face curving as he did so. 

"What do you want?" I blew a puff of smoke in his direction. 

"It's not what we want, it's what we want to offer." An Italian girl made her way up beside the leader. "The names Billie, doll. And this is my boyfriend Tyler." 

I watched them without a word. Billie was beautiful, pale skin with silky black hair, her body was the perfect blend of breasts and ass. Her clothes were tight and revealing, something I didn't see much of around here. Tyler on the other hand was short and stout, bulging in places were he shouldn't. His hair was a spiked mess of orange and blonde. His face was coated with freckles and a nose that barely left his face. 

"Pleasure to meet you Billie." I winked, grabbing her hand and kissing it gently before replacing my cigarette. 

"You see," she smiled at me as I stood up. "If you have a bit of money, we can supply you with all your needs."

"What do I need?" I asked with a smirk, examining her body from head to foot. 

She bit her lip and spoke in a soft seductive voice. "I think you need heroin."


	2. Chapter Two

I sat alone, slouched against my bedroom wall with music blasted through the stereo. The needle was still pressed deep into my vein, but I didn't mind. I was in search of ecstasy and frankly that was my only concern. School had been out a little over a month now and I have been using more each day. My parents had caught on about the smoking, that was hard to hide after all. They didn't, however, find out about the pills, the heroin, or the other drugs I experimented with. 

There was a light tap on the door, I pried the needle out and hid it underneath my pillow. The door cracked open as I saw my mum peek inside. She spoke but I heard nothing, only the slight movement of her lips. I focused my attention harder and could make out the word Mycroft. 

She left and I forced myself off the bed and into the liveliness of the house. Sure enough Mycroft stood in the kitchen. His diet was obviously not working due to the tight bulge of his stomach against the waistband. Other than the increase of weight he hadn't changed much. His hair still had it's lone curl in the front. He still wore proper clothing, black slacks, a white button up shirt and a black blazer. It disgusted me. 

Just as I turned to retreat back into my room Mycroft's voice hit me like a dagger. "How've you been doing Sherlock?" He asked in a calming matter. I could do nothing but shrug in response. "Let's go have a chat." He gestured his head towards the door. His friendly question had caused slight panic in the eyes of our parents. I nodded slowly, doing anything to cause them the same anxiety they had caused me. 

The walk was silent, no chatting at all. Mycroft led me through intertwined pathways near our house. I remembered these paths from when I was younger, however I rarely went down here anymore. Once we arrived at a small creak Mycroft spoke in his usual charismatic voice, "Mum and dad are worried about you Sherlock. I'd like to believe you are fine, but I can tell you are not. Talk to me brother mine." He slipped out of his socks and shoes and dipped them slightly into the water. 

"Brother mine." I mocked his term from our childhood. "I'm fine." I lied. "I don't need your help." I spoke with great enmity. 

"Sherlock I care about you." He was soft spoken as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to me. 

"Well I don't care about you." I took the cigarette and lit it hastily before he could take back his offer. 

"I don't care what you think of me." His voice remained strong as I continuously tried to break him. 

"I spent my whole life living up to the expectations you set too damn high!" I shouted out of immense jealously. 

"You can not blame me Sherlock, I lived my life you should've lived yours."

"I couldn't live my life! You prevented me from doing that." I ashed my cigarette on his bare foot as he screamed in agony. "You ruined me Mycroft! You made me this way!" 

"It's not my fault Sherlock." He gently swished water against the bright red singe I had branded into his skin. "It's not my fault." 

"It is one-hundred percent your fault!" I ashed again burning him once more. "You set these goals, you had the pills, you are constantly on my mind!"

"Sherlock." He cringed, still in pain. "It's not my fault."

"Shut up Mycroft!" Time seemed to slow as I pushed him away from me. He fell back into a tree and cracked his head with a loud roar. Blood seeped like sap between his flesh and the tree. Terror struck me as time raged on. "Mycroft!" I shook him gently. His head simply fell from the bark, revealing to me a large slice digging into his skull. The glossy blood stared back at me. "Mycroft!" I shook him again. 

I couldn't think straight. I raced back through the thickening woods, it seemed to take longer than it had to arrive. At last I came to the wooden door and forced my way inside. "Mycroft's dead!" I shouted. The words hadn't been chosen carefully and by the look on their faces I had chosen the worst words possible. 

Mum was down by the creek in a heartbeat as I sat on the steps with dad. His arms were wrapped tight around me as I let out a silent flood of tears. It wasn't long before there was an ambulance parked just outside the woods. They scurried down, following mums screams, and returned with a covered body on a cot. Perhaps I had killed him after all. Mum joined him in the ambulance while father and I clambered into he car. 

All I could think about was the faint chance I had killed him. My older brother, my role model, and I could've killed him. We heard nothing for hours. Mum was in the hospital room, dad and I were alone in the waiting room. Doctors and mum both popped out occasionally but not a word was ever muttered. I was left with my thoughts and the horrible ideas living there. 

It's quite sad actually, how part of me wanted him dead. At least then I would have nothing left to live up to. I'd be my own person, live my own life, I'd be Sherlock Holmes. The thoughts were great, but it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted Mycroft to protect me, to lead me, to care for me. Truth is I need him. 

It was close to three in the morning before mum came baring news. "He's awake." She sighed. Dad hopped up but she stopped him. "He wants Sherlock." 

I stood up and slowly made my way down the dimly lit hospital hallways and into the room where Mycroft lay. "Myke?" I asked gently tapping the door frame. He groaned and I stepped forward until I was within arms length from him. "Are you okay?" I asked. 

"Sherlock." He groaned once more. "Sherlock."

"I'm here Myke." I sat in the grey chair beside the bed. It was still warm from my mothers presence. He looked abhorrent, his hair stained with blood and his eyes barely opened. He was pale as snow and covered in goosebumps. 

His mouth fell open but no words came out. I waited as he seemed to gasp for air. "I forgive you." He sighed pressing the button for morphine. "No brain damage luckily." He pushed himself up. 

"Be careful!" I leaped forward to help him. 

He held him arm. "No, I got this." 

I felt bad watching him struggle, at least he could move and speak. His perception was damaged however as he attempted to put his mouth around the pale green straw. With all my strength I refrained from helping him. He was finally able to suck up a decent amount of water before nearly dropping the styrofoam cup. "I'm sorry." I murmured as I took the cup from him and set it on the metal tray. 

"Sherlock, I didn't mean to ruin your life." 

"Stop." I held back the emotion from my voice. "Please just forget this ever happened." He went quiet and his eyes closed. I examined him. He had gauze around his head and a patch of it around his foot as well. "How many stitches?" I asked noticing the blood still seeping from his head. 

"Ten stitches and four staples." His eyes opened again and a smile crept onto his face. "And a decent size dent in my foot." 

"I'm sorry." I sighed again. 

"Don't say that, don't ever apologize Sherlock. Don't apologize for something you believe in."

"I didn't want to hurt you Mycroft!" I shouted. 

"Calm down." He spoke with his usual calmness. 

"How can you be this calm Myke? I could've killed you! You could've died out there and I had half a mind to let you."

"Sherlock-"

"No Myke. You don't understand. I wanted you to be hurt. I wanted to hurt you Myke. I wanted you to feel pain."

"Sherlock-"

"And here you are all calm and collected. Yell at me Myke. Be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you." He reassured me, but the words only made it worse.

"Be mad Myke!" I began to cry as I yelled at him. "Come on Myke yell at me!" I begged. 

"No." He protested. 

"Mycroft!" I was having a tantrum, I needed him to yell at me. I needed to know he was mad. I needed to know I did something wrong. "Yell at me!"

"Sherlock!" He raised his voice, still not shouting however. "I am drugged at the moment and am not in the mood to argue with you!"

"Fuck you!" I screamed and left in tears. I couldn't go far in spite of my anger, I sat against the wall just outside of his room. Tears once again collected in my eyes and left in a silent flow. Mycroft too was letting out silent gasps of sadness, I couldn't bring myself to go back inside the room no matter how hard I tried.


	3. Chapter Three

Mycroft was sent home yesterday, mum had him come to our house rather than his. I hadn't left my room since they went to pick him up. I had a feeling I'd be in here more than I already was, I barely came out now, only to eat and occasionally start a small conversation. But with Mycroft here now, I wouldn't be able to. He is sure to hate me, and to be honest I hate him a bit. I still think about how much better I would be if he was dead, and it was a beautiful thought. Still he was my brother, and he was needed by more people than just me. 

I heard the door to the house open and I quickly shoved all my drugs and paraphernalia underneath my bed wrapped in my blanket. Without thinking I picked up a book from the floor and flipped to a random page. The words blurred together but it was simply a distraction, a way to seem busy. From the corner of my eye I saw Mycroft leaning against the doorframe as he always did. He looked better from the last time I had seen him, his hair was now washed and color once again shone off his skin. He still had a patch of gauze on his head but not as large as it had been previously. "Have His Carcase?" He chuckled. "It's my favorite and I could kiss you for it. You need not shrink and tremble. I am not going to do it. When I kiss you, it will be an important event." 

I looked up at him with confusion in my eyes. "Kiss me? Get out!" 

"It's a quote." He laughed again. Despite my wishes he entered my room, limping from the hole I had burned into the side and top of his foot. Sitting on my bed he spoke with sincere care. "Where's your drugs."

"I don't do drugs." I clenched my teeth tight together pretending to focus back on the book. 

"It would help," he paused, taking the book from me and flipping it around, "if you read it the right way." 

Our eyes met, his full of concern and mine raging with anger. "I don't do drugs." I repeated. 

"Well then." He laid himself onto my bed, his arm dangling off the edge while the other went to the gauze in his head. "Got me pretty bad."

"So?" I distanced myself. 

"So now you have to live with me again."

"Bloody wonderful." I said in a sarcastic tone. 

"And I will be taking these." He stood up with my black blanket bundled in his hands. 

"Fuck!" I shot up and struggled to get them from him. 

"Oh come on." He instigated. "Come get your precious drugs Sherly!" 

"Fuck off Mycroft!" 

"Fuck off Sherlock!" He held the bundle above his head, carefully guarding all that was inside. I jumped and pried to get it from him but it was too high. "You want them so bad, hurt me." He looked down on me in fear. "Come on hurt me!"

"You want me to hurt you?" I smiled faintly. "Fine!" I took the book and smacked it on his gause pad. He blacked out, falling to the floor and dropping the blanket. 

I retreated to my bed, resting happily with my drugs in hand. Seeing Mycroft slouched against the wall however turned off my appetite for the high. Watching him seemed to be more addicting. His chest rose and fell in a struggle, his head had begun to bleed again as well. He asked for it, he told me to hurt him, he wanted it. 

"How are you boys?" Mum spoke through the door. 

"Just fine!" I shouted. "Playing poker."

"Myke plays poker?" She opened the door but I was quickly blocking it. 

"We're busy right Myke?" I turned toward his unconscious body. "Ya he nodded he's focused on the cards." 

"Have fun boys. Dinner is in half an hour." She smiled with concern on her face.

"Alright." I forced a smile and slammed the door. 

I popped myself a few pills before kneeling beside Mycroft. "Wake up buddy." I slightly hit his face repetitively. "Wake up Myke." I continued to slap him until his eyes slowly opened. "Good you're up mum-"

His hand flew to my neck, squeezing it as he pushed me against the floor and pinned me down. "Not a smart move brother!" He growled. 

My neck was constricted as I spoke. "Get off me!" 

"No." He clenched my neck tighter. 

"Mum!" I screamed in both fear and pain. 

"Shut up!" He shouted back. 

"Mykey!" Mum was there in a flash, forcing Mycroft off of me and he flung his arms in a fit of anger. "What happened." She stated, more as an order than a question. 

"Fucker just choked me." I gasped for breath. 

Mycroft didn't say a word, his eyes said it all. They showed the pain, the fear, the anger. Mum escorted us both out of my room and into the kitchen. We still didn't speak to one another. Sitting directly across from me, Mycroft's eyes held nothing but glares, even as he spoke softly to our parents. He kept his mouth shut about my aggression, stating that he lost his temper for a moment and took it out on me. His words meant nothing, his eyes proved them wrong. In this moment Mycroft hated me. 

Later that night, when the house was silent, I picked up the phone to call and check on Billie. The line was busy, however and I was about to hang up until I heard Mycroft's voice. "I promise it won't be long. I'm just here until my mum sees I'm recovering."

"That brother of yours is going to hell!" A girls voice weeped from the other line. 

"I don't believe in hell. Even if I did, I forgave Sherlock already."

"He could've killed you more than once!" 

"And I could've killed him too." He sighed. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Hurry back Mycroft. The baby isn't going to wait forever."

"I know hon, I love you."

"I love you too Myke." The line went dead. 

A smile crept across my face and I forced my way into Mycrofts room. "Who's the girl?" 

"You made my room a mess." He was down on his knees, cleaning up the books and bottles I had knocked over months ago. 

"The girl?" I repeated. "The baby?"

"I got a girl pregnant, have a problem with that?" He stood up and faced me. "We plan on getting married." 

"Mum and dad know?"

"No and I don't plan on telling them anytime soon."

"Then I will." I winked. 

"Go ahead. They won't even believe you." He shrugged. "They wouldn't believe me either"

"You tried?' I sat on his bed. 

"Last year I tried telling them I was in a relationship and they blew it off, told me I should focus on work. I don't have my own life either Sherlock."

"I've been living in your shadow for fifteen years! I could kill up I right here right now."

"You could've killed me numerous times Sherlock, and I'm right here, as alive as ever."

"I will kill you the same way you're killing me." I gave him a slug smile. 

"And how is that?" He crossed his arms across his chest. 

"I'll show you." I paused. "Let's go for a chat."

"Mum doesn't want us out of her sight."

"You're a grown man." I reminded him. 

I stopped by my room and grabbed my bag before heading out. Mycroft led us through the damp grass, a sliver flashlight illuminating the way. He made the trek back down through the woods and to the creek. The tree he had hit still help an indent, and with a laugh on his face he sat beside it, resting his head in the hole. "Go ahead and kill me then. Go on." He closed his eyes and seemed to meditate. 

There was a slight part of me that wanted to grab his hair and repetitively slam his into the tree. Another part wanted to drown him. Yet a part wanted to walk away, let him live. The majority however, wanted to watch him lose his life the same way I was loosing mine. Slowly, painfully, knowingly. "Got a light?" I asked pulling a cigarette from my bag. 

"Yep." He kept his eyes closed as he reached into his pocket and brought out his faded red lighter. He held it at arms length. It bothered me, the fact that he remained so calm, so steady. He didn't believe I would go through with this, he didn't believe I was capable of anything. 

"Won't be much of a role model anymore." I inhaled and blew the smoke in his face. 

"Just kill me." He ordered. His eyes still closed and his voice still steady. 

"All in good time brother mine." I smiled. 

I wanted to frighten him, I wanted him to be afraid of me. After all, a murder doesn't feel right unless the victim is weak and fearful. Mycroft knew this, of course he did, that's why he was so calm, it was his safety. "I'm waiting." He smiled, eyes still closed. 

"Let me finish this will you?" I continued my smoke, at the same time rustling through my bag and setting up a needle. "You ever done drugs Myke?"

"Prescription." He yawned. 

"Getting tired?"

"A bit." His fingers began to pry at the damp dirt around him. It was the first nervous twitch I had seen from him. 

"Tell the truth Myke. You ever fine drugs?" 

"No." His foot tapped rigorously against the ground. 

"Don't lie to me." I growled. 

"Yes." He opened his eyes and his nervous ticks stopped. "I fooled around with shit when I was a kid. But never enough to get addicted."

"But you got high?" A smiled holding the needle where he could see it. 

"Just buzzed, slightly uncoordinated. Never have done anything too drastic." His breath deepened as he caught sight of the needle. 

"What about heroin Myke?"

"Hell no!" His voice cracked with fear at last. "That shit will kill you!" 

"I know." I brought the needle closer to him. "Close your eyes Mycroft. Close your eyes and enjoy your first overdose." I forced the needle into his vein and through his struggle leaked the drug into his body. He shook for a moment before falling cold. I left the needle in his arm and repositioned him slightly to look like he had dine it all on his own. With that I made my way back home. 

I awoke to my mothers face directly in front of mine. I jumped back and pushed her away. "Where is Myke?" She asked in a stern tone. 

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?" I groaned, shoving my pillow over my face. "Go away!" 

"Mum!" Mycroft voice rang from somewhere in the house. 

"Myke!" I listened as she scurried out. "You're covered in dirt!"

"Must sleep walked. I'm fine really." His voice was clearly strained. "I think I'll spend the good majority of the day with my little brother. 

I pulled the pillow tighter around my face as he entered. "What do you wasn't." 

The door latched and I could hear his heavy breathing. "I need more."


	4. Chapter Four

Mycroft was as drugged as I was. "I'm having a friend over." I shrugged. He didn't make a sound, his mind was focused on the wall. "She's a girl." Again no response. "She goes by the name Billie."

"I don't care." He spoke at last. 

"She's a hot Italian"

"That's a redundant statement."

I couldn't help but smile at that. The doorbell rang and I rushed to the door. Billie was standing outside wearing a tight pink shirt and a shirt black skirt. "Come on." I whispered and led her past mums bedroom. 

Mycroft was still in my room however. "Wow." He sighed. 

"The names Billie." She winked and knelt to be eye level to him. 

"Myke." He smiled smugly. 

"How old are you Myke?"

"How old do you want me to be?" He chuckled. 

"Yes." I interrupted. "And Myke will be leaving here-"

"Sherlock!" Mums voice ricoqued off the walls. 

"What?" I shouted back. 

"I need you!" 

"Now?"

"Yes!"

I rolled my eyes as Billie and Mycroft giggled. With rage in my eyes I made my way into the kitchen. "What?" I hissed

"I need that bowl." She pointed up on top of the cabinets. 

I hopped up onto the counter and steadied myself into a standing position. "Myke is taller than me." I grunted. 

"Mycroft shouldn't be climbing on my furniture. He has head trama."

"He'll have more than that soon." I mumbled under my breath. At last my hand gripped the blue glassy bowl. I pulled it down and threw it at my mother who caught it gingerly. 

"Careful!" She set the bowl down and held her arm out to help me. I rejected the offer, jumping off like a cat instead. "Oh Sherlock!" She spoke as I turned around. 

"What?" I glared at her. 

"Behave with that girl here."

"Mykes the one who needs to behave." I left this time, ignoring my name being called once more. 

I walked into my bedroom and was shocked for a moment. They were both on my bed. Mycroft was laying flat while Billie leaned over on top of him, her skirt just barely covering what I didn't want to see. With my presence still unknown I retreated out and into Mycroft's room. A wave of boiling rage washed over me. Billie, my girl was shagging Mycroft. 

My better judgement was weak on a good day, but now it was gone completely. I worked on prying book after book off of Mycroft's shelves. Not only did I attack his precious books, I knocked over all of his possessions within my sight, scattering them across the floor. The word 'angry' didn't even begin to describe how I felt at this moment. Hostile, rancorous, pissed off, livid, there was no word for it. 

"There you are." Billie spoke softly. "We were waiting for you."

"Get out." I was barely audible. 

"Sherlock."

"Out." I saids slightly louder. 

"Sherlock-"

"Out!" I shouted at the too of my lungs. Tears filled her eyes as she raced out of the room and the house. 

"What's all this running and shouting about?" Mum was making her way closer. 

"Nothing!" I slammed Mycroft's door shut behind me and I snuck into mine. "You!" 

"Calm down Sherlock." Mycroft sat on my bed in ecstasy. He held a cocky smile and he reaked of sex pharamones. "It was only a quick shag." He laughed. 

"I'll kill you!" I bit my teeth down upon one another. 

"You say that all the time." He proped himself up against his hard. "Blow to the head, nothing. Drug overdose, nothing. You can't do it Sherlock."

"Hell I can!" Within seconds I was on top of Mycroft. Straddling him in a way that held him down. I swung my arm around and grabbed the knife from under my pillow. "Scared yet big brother?" I asked holding the knife out, revealing to him his blurred reflection. 

"You want to see me bleed? Go head." He pried his arms free and flipped around, pinning me down below him. "See these?" He shifted both of my wrists below one of his large hands and lifted his shirt with the other. Scars lined his body from his shoulders down to parts I couldn't see. "You think my life is so perfect?" I attempted to squirm but I was pinned down hard. "You think I have everything laid out for me? Huh? Is that what you think Sherlock?" His voice held a sense of fear and anger, it was a tone I had never hear before, not even in his previous outbursts. 

"No." I struggled. 

"What do you think then?" A low growl escaped his throat as his hand grabbed tighter around my wrist. 

"I don't know!" Tears had begun to flow to my eyes. My voice was a gargled mess of fear. "I don't know."

"Look at me Sherlock! Look at me!"

"Myke stop!"

"You want to see me bleed?"

"No!"

"You want to see me bleed?" He repeated louder. 

"No!" My volume matched his. 

He bit down on his shirt and with his freehand grabbed the knife that had been laying beside us. He stared at it for a moment, seemingly mesmerized. His attention was short lived however and he pressed the knife just above his heart, slightly left of the aorta. Their was a faint noise as the knife ripped throw the skin, opening way to an accumulation of blood. 

"Stop." I begged as he pressed the knife against a new location and called forth another trail of crimson red. 

He continued, slowly moving the knife to new places and slitting himself open. His chest was lined with ugly pink scars and had healed in an awkward manner. Not once did Mycroft cry out in pain, but his eyes revealed to me a life of hurt and betrayal. At last the knife rested along his throat. 

"Don't you dare!" I screamed. "Cut me instead!"

Perhaps it was a trick of the lighting, bouncing off the glistening red of the knife, but Mycroft's eyes seemed to glow a beating red for just a moment. The knife slid away from him and he pressed it firmly against my neck. One slight move and it would cut me, killing me in the process. "I could kill you Sherlock."

"I know." I choked out the words I had been longing to hear from him each time I made a threat. He reacted different than me, I would've stopped, let Mycroft free and isolate myself. He, on the other hand, had a much different mindset. The knife was still pressed against my throat, unmoving. 

"I will kill you Sherlock." He spoke calmly, and somehow it scared me more than yelling would have. 

Somehow I thought he was serious. Deep down I knew it was only a threat but on the surface I was ready to fight. I ripped my left hand from his grip and smacked him as hard as I could against his still fragile head. He passed out on top of me, his weight, although less than it had been in the past, kept me down. He was too much to lift off of me.


	5. Chapter Five

It was strange, the tension between Mycroft and myself was still there, but the hostile aggression seemed to flee, if only for a short period of time. We became closer, with both of us struggling to become sober, we held a common bond. He began training me in the way of his deduction methods, which were surprisingly simple. How had I not known them before? Simple tricks and postures gave away practically everything, from a persons true age, their intentions, their carrear or their relationship status. 

Mycroft was changing right in front of my eyes though. He was growing older, fatter, wiser. He even began working on the process of acquiring his previous job once more. Which unfortunately for me meant he would be leaving soon, back to his own life and I'd go back to mine. Hopefully with both of us clean this time. 

"Where exactly do you work Myke?" I swung my feet up onto his desk and leaned back in the chair. 

"I'm busy Sherlock." He pecked away at a keyboard. 

"Just the gist."

"I'm working my way up into a steady position within the British Government." He chewed on a dented black pen cap. "And what do you plan on doing upon graduation?"

"I've been thinking about that." I kicked my leg against the desk and spun the chair around and around. "I have been getting into those mystery books lately, think I might go on to work for Scotland Yard."

He stared up at me with a dumbfounded expression. "Don't waste your time with them." He shrugged. "Go ahead an solve crimes, but don't get involved with them, they are stupid."

"What ever happened to that girl with the baby?" I asked, changing the subject completely. 

"Miscarriage." His face was hardened. "For the better anyway, I don't have time for her or it now."

"I think I like you better when you are at a possibility of brain damage." 

"Same to you." He smacked me on the back of the head with the palm of his hand and struggled to keep his smile hidden. 

"Wanna fight?" I taunted in a joking manner. 

"Not now." His voice went from playfull to heavy. "I have work to do." He turned back towards his keyboard. 

I wasn't sure why Mycroft was suddenly so distant. It seemed as though he were a hundred years old and wouldn't dare retreat back into his youth. But in all reality, he was a youth still. Twenty-six wasn't old. Mycroft didn't look twenty-six. He looked so much older, the bald spot didn't seem to lessen that. 

We'd both been sober for a year now, and Mycroft is leaving today. He's off to his new job and his old life. I'm alone again, right out of high school, and this time, I wanted to live up to my brothers expectations. Truth be told he isn't horrible, he isn't rude, and he is hardworking. I'm not sure why I hadn't seen that before. 

Still even now, as I watched Mycroft climb into his shinny black car, a pit in the depths of my stomach loathed him. A small fracture of my brain still wanted him gone. Yet I waved cheerfully as he drove away, leaving me stranded behind.


End file.
